Black and Red Lace
by ExquisiteRose
Summary: Written in response to Sue throwing a black and red lace thong at Blaine, so he could "avoid visible panty lines". (All warnings inside).
1. Lace

**A/N**: I've never written a PWP for the sole intention of it being a PWP. I must say, I'm blushing about as much a Kurt is. Enjoy (?).

**Inspiration**: Episode 4x16, "Feud", where Sue throws the red and black lace thong at Blaine, telling him to wear them to get rid of any visible panty lines. (I was hoping someone would write it, but alas. Here's my take).

**Pairing**: Kurt/Blaine (Klaine).

**Notes/Tags/Warnings**: PWP. AU for the ending (because I feel this Skype scene is in the realm of possibility..). Light cross-dressing (since Blaine is wearing a thong). Masturbation, Skypeshow/light striptease over Skype, infidelity (?), light lingerie kink. There may be more, but yeah.

**P.S**: If this is removed for its content, you can also find it at under the same penname.

**Series**: Not a real ongoing one, but I _plan _to add another part for Kurt's arrival.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Glee_. It belongs to Ryan Murphy, Fox, etcetera, etcetera.

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Sweaty and tired after a frankly horribly, impossibly, never-ending Cheerios practice, Blaine headed for the showers, stripping off sweat-slicked clothing as he went.

Admittedly, he'd underestimated the Cheerios. It was no wonder why Kitty was always so cranky and why the Cheerios were so thin. Blaine had never felt so small, exhausted, hungry, and proud before he'd had a practice with the Cheerios and their devil of a coach, Sue Sylvester.

Showering quickly, roughly rubbing off the grime of two-hours worth of sweat from a grueling, constant practice for a competition months away, Blaine hurried out of the showers, toweling off briefly and slipping into his clothing. He hadn't brought an extra change of clothing, which meant he was slipping on his Cheerios uniform once again, including one lacy and tight red thong.

When he'd first pulled it over his legs and between his cheeks, Blaine had blushed to his roots. The idea of wearing a thong-and one so unabashedly girly, given to him by a teacher-had embarrassed Blaine, humiliated him, really. However, after a thorough rant to Kurt over Skype about the cons of wearing thongs and a deep sympathizing complaint for women everywhere who had to suffer the constant wedgies of the dreadful thong, Blaine had felt slightly better, if not for also getting to see Kurt's reaction while he was ranting.

Of which, Blaine had noticed Kurt had become increasingly red during his explicit descriptions of the 'chafing' the thong committed to the soft skin of his cheeks and the tight cupping of his balls against soft, red velvet fabric; and when he had to do particularly stretchy positions or manage the splits, he explained the wet feeling of sweat trickling down his genitals, the soft caress of the cloth teasing his hole..

And maybe Blaine understood the exact reason Kurt's face flushed with arousal as Blaine raved over his new underwear, why Kurt gasped when Blaine went into every aching detail, and why Kurt's hand mysteriously disappeared below the screen when Blaine had pulled down his pants to show Kurt (seeing is believing, right?) the indents on the pale skin from the snug embrace of the thong over his supple body.

Blaine maybe didn't have to bend over for Kurt to imagine the exact depth the thong had, maybe didn't need to snap the waistband of them for Kurt to understand the restrictive limits that shifted against him with every movement, and, he thought, he most definitely didn't need to push the thong around his thighs to show Kurt the small, red marks on his waist and the insides of his cheeks, the imprints of the flowery lace and tight lining, which had grown tighter with the increasingly decreasing space in his lingerie.

Maybe Blaine didn't have to promise huskily that he'd give Kurt a full performance of everything he'd learned and every complaint he had when Kurt dropped in for his next visit, maybe didn't have to suggest he'd do it only in the thong-or, if Kurt was very good, without anything on at all.

Maybe he didn't have to grin wickedly as he masturbated teasingly into the camera, quick swipes over the mushroom head and down the tapered vein, or moan wantonly when he saw Kurt's hand pumping quick and sure, too, pant harshly as he felt his muscles tense and clench, cry out desperately as he toed the edges of pleasure and pain, and sob Kurt's name as he came blindingly all over the lacy red and black fabric.

But he did, and he grinned triumphantly, if not lazily and post-orgasm boneless, when Kurt informed him breathily that he'd booked a plane flight.

Snapping back to the present, Blaine grinned, ran his fingers through his wet, ungelled hair (which Kurt had the pleasurable tendency to tug), and hurried to his car, eager to get to the airport.

Before turning on the engine, Blaine sent off a quick text, blushing slightly as he put his phone away and clipped his seatbelt on, thong shifting slightly between his cheeks. His stomach warmed pleasantly and his pants tightened achingly as he imagined Kurt's embarrassed and aroused flush when he read the text in the crowded Lima airport:

(Sent 4:45 pm):

I'm wearing them.

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**A/N**: Reviews are nice.


	2. Embrace

**A/N**: If you want a short backstory, it's this:

Everyone wonders how Blaine could have cheated, and I suppose I tried to demontrate it here: To me, Blaine's always been a tangible, emotional, sincere, loyal, and giving person; with Kurt gone to New York and neglecting him, he lost a best friend, a boyfriend, and a lover. Burt said sex brings people closer to other people; I think Blaine really felt that.

Ignore the rambling above if you want, but yeah: _that's _why it got introspective(ish).

I don't know if it was what you were expecting, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

**Warnings/Tags**: Stripping. Frotting, masturbation, and hinted fingering. It's not really too descriptive (?) and is kind of poetic, actually. It's kind of introspective, in a weird, not directly introspective way.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee. It belongs to its appropriate creators, etc. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The stars winked in the dark sky, peeping through the curtains of the window, co-conspirators to the debauchery past within the living room where Blaine and Kurt lay, sweaty and sated, legs entwined and bodies pressed close as they spoon.

Blaine sighed happily as Kurt pressed more firmly against him, arm wrapped protectively around Blaine's torso. The feel of warm, moist skin on skin was delightful, and Blaine inhaled the perfume of their coupling, memories stirring and making him shiver pleasantly.

After he'd picked Kurt up from the airport, knee jiggling and body vibrating from arousal and excitement, Blaine had nervously led Kurt inside his house to set the stage.

Blaine has an affinity for performing. The feelings aroused while displaying and painting a scene feed Blaine.

It's not acting. It's monumentally different from a part he plays because it's a role he lives. When he sings, he breathes and sighs the emotion, he ties it to his heart and plays it on its strings.

No, performing is different than acting for Blaine. It's living.

When he slowly grasped the bottom edges of the shirt of his Cheerios uniform, standing dead center in the middle of the living room, he inhaled, sucking in everything, the setting, the atmosphere, and the moment. Kurt's stuttered breath, surprised as he paused in removing his coat from where he still stood in the hall to stare at Blaine, his widened eyes, the pulse of his heart, and the dilation of his eyes had sunk into Blaine, dissolved into his skin, and Blaine blinked, pulling his shirt up and over his head in one swift motion, curls flopping wetly onto his forehead. He tossed it carelessly onto the couch, still reeling in the increase of his heartbeat and the small steps Kurt took towards him, eyes shining.

When his fingers trailed along the edges of his Cheerios pants, flicks that tease the fabric settled low on his waist, so low the bottom of his shirt struggled to cover the muscled V of his hips, Blaine closed his eyes, struck with the darkening of Kurt's eyes and the aborted movement of Kurt's left hand to his groin. Blaine felt the tendrils of the abrupt end of the movement, the nerves pulsing through his body, stopping at his hips because it's not there yet; Kurt's hand rested lightly on his waist, and Blaine was thinly skirting the lines.

Blaine's chest heaved, and he slid his track pants down, down to his knees and then around his ankles, until he stepped out of them gently, his balls lightly rolling against the silk fabric of thong with the small movements.

The soft velvet of the thong played against the fine hairs of his body softly as he shifted towards Kurt, angling his hips and waist closer and more evenly, the view of his body more cleanly set where Kurt's eyes are now seeing the panoramic view, each detail able to be accounted for. Kurt sat now, legs spread, on the couch, hand perilously close to his groin as his eyes urged Blaine on.

When Blaine thrust his hips forward, a magnetic force dragging towards Kurt, he embodied the lust swirling in the room, heat and sweat and arousal combining lethally. Swiveling his pelvis, hands flattening across his chest, absently twisting a nipple, curling an exploratory finger into his belly button, Blaine groaned. Kurt's hand was now palming over the outline of his cock, smooth as it slided over and pressed down firmly, the heel pushing harder. Kurt's hips snapped up against his palm, undulating and crashing like waves.

The thong was a prop in Blaine's performance, significant but ultimately background until required; but as Blaine prowled towards Kurt, it became useful, Kurt's hands greedy to touch, snap, rub, and caress until Blaine's sensual writhing was base and stuttered, uncontrolled and rough.

When Kurt pulled Blaine onto his lap, Kurt's legs slotted between Blaine's spread thighs, the fabric of the thong pulled taut, Blaine grounded down, gasping, head snapping back and pelvis rocking forward mindlessly.

It was tangible now, and Blaine could feel the want and need in the heat of Kurt's flushed skin, the tight grip of Kurt's fingers on his waist, and the wet suction of Kurt's lips.

Fingers slipped underneath lacy edges, sliding and cupping, one set of fingers pulling and twisting pleasurably, the other prodding and creeping, slowly shifting between Blaine's cheeks. Blaine moaned, breath puffing against Kurt's neck, rocking forward involuntarily as he longed to press backwards into an oblivion.

When passion skyrocketed, Blaine wrapped his legs around Kurt, snugly wrapped around and pressed closer than probably comfortable; which was alright because Kurt's thrusting had ceased, and his arms tightened around Blaine. Mouth and tongue soothed heated skin and nipped at bruised lips, hands pressing and curling into sweaty and curled hair, nose tentatively hovering over flicking eyelashes and wild curls.

When Kurt whispered "I love you", lips ghosting along Blaine's chin, eyes firmly upon Blaine's own, Blaine pressed forth his strength and confidence, his belief and adoration, his love and courage, and he brought a little of the same that he found in Kurt's eyes, replying softly, "I love you, too;" and he felt a little more complete than he'd had in a while.

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**A/N**: Reviews (whatever they may contain: constructive, etc.) would be much obliged.


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